When a Dutch sailor shipwrecked on Jeju in 1627, he thought he’d been captured by cannibals. Instead, he became Korea’s first Westerner—and the first sign of change that would shake Joseon to its core.
This episode traces the arrival of Western guns, God, and ideas—from Jan Janse de Weltevree to the Catholic persecutions of 1801—as Korea’s Confucian order faces its first real collision with the West.
Angel Earl Joel Bonomini Devon Hiphner Gabi Palomino Steve Marsh Eva Sikora Hunter Winter Cecilia Löfgren Dumas Ashley Wright Edward Bradford Boram Yoon Chad Struhs Stewart MacMillan Louise Dreisig
The West Arrives: Cannibals, Cannons, and Catholicism in Joseon
When King Jeongjo took the throne in 1776, he tried to reform a kingdom torn apart by factions and tradition. But the real challenge was still to come—from beyond the sea.
The story begins not with missionaries or merchants, but with a shipwreck. In 1627, a Dutch sailor named Jan Janse de Weltevree washed ashore on Jeju Island. Expecting to be eaten by “cannibals,” he instead became the first Westerner to live in Korea. Over time, he took a Korean name—Park Yeon, passed the civil service exam, married, and commanded troops. When fellow Dutch castaway Hendrick Hamel met him years later, Weltevree’s Korean was flawless… and his Dutch was nearly gone.
Joseon’s Confucian order saw itself as the last bastion of civilization in a barbaric world. But small cracks had formed. Through China, books like Matteo Ricci’s True Principles of Catholicism introduced Western science and Christianity. To some, it was dangerous heresy. To others, a breath of fresh air in a stale system.
By the late 18th century, reform-minded scholars began embracing Seohak, or “Western Learning.” They admired Europe’s science and technology but ignored its faith. Others—especially from poor or marginalized families—found Catholicism’s message of equality too powerful to resist.
King Jeongjo tried to keep the peace. But after his death in 1800, the regent Queen Dowager Jeongsun and her conservative Byeokpa allies cracked down hard. The first Korean Catholics were executed for performing non-Confucian funeral rites. By 1801, more than 300 believers were executed, thousands imprisoned or exiled—including members of the royal family.
What began with one stranded sailor ended with Korea’s first religious persecution—and a nation split between old beliefs and new worlds.
Every Korean base has a ghost story. From eerie guard posts to phantom radio calls, Korea’s military folklore is filled with soldiers who never stopped standing watch. We explore the legends, the psychology behind them, and the blurred line between stress and the supernatural.
Angel Earl Joel Bonomini Devon Hiphner Gabi Palomino Steve Marsh Eva Sikora Hunter Winter Cecilia Löfgren Dumas Ashley Wright Edward Bradford Boram Yoon Chad Struhs Stewart MacMillan Louise Dreisig
The Ghosts That Still Stand Guard: Korea’s Military Hauntings
The Korean military has two realities — the one soldiers live in, and the one they whisper about after dark. In those long night watches, the barracks fill with stories of footsteps on empty floors, radios that speak to no one, and figures in old uniforms walking where no one should be.
The Perfect Conditions for a Haunting
Isolation, sleep deprivation, and a rigid hierarchy make the military a breeding ground for ghost stories. Many tales come from soldiers on overnight guard duty or bases built over former battlefields. Psychologists say these stories help conscripts process fear together. In other words, ghost stories are group therapy in camouflage.
Classic Motifs
Ghosts wearing outdated ROK uniforms
Radio messages from empty outposts
Sudden drops in temperature inside fences
People walking over water or through barbed wire
Voices crying where no civilians live
Famous Hauntings
Nonsan Training Center Recruits report seeing dead trainees calling them over during grenade drills. The “Ghost Tree” nearby has spooked generations of soldiers who swear they see faces in the bark.
The White-Clad Old Man In 2014, soldiers at a construction site saw an old man dressed in white drifting between half-built barracks. Excavation later revealed old graves under the site. The figure vanished soon after — but guards still feel watched.
The Combat Boot Ghost At an Air Force base, a suicide victim’s boot refused to burn. Soon, a one-booted soldier was seen patrolling the corridors. Footsteps echoed from empty floors until the dormitory was shut down.
The Ammunition Depot Spirits Front-line guards heard invisible boots and ghostly rifle clinks near old Korean War ammo bunkers. One ghost, “Private Kim on the 2nd Step,” supposedly still walks his post.
The Fog Ghost Along the DMZ, soldiers see a lone figure emerging from thick mist. Radios fail, the temperature drops, and the shape disappears into vapor — a soldier reliving his last patrol forever.
What It Says About Military Life
Korea’s military ghosts reveal more than superstition. They show the human cost of isolation, hierarchy, and fear. The haunted barracks are symbols of the stress young men endure — and the stories they invent to survive it.
Whether it’s a ghost or just the mind trying to make sense of the dark, one truth remains: in the Korean military, even the dead still stand guard.
Here it is! Finally! Shawn Morrissey’s much anticipated book of Korean supernatural encounters is released. We ask him your questions. Will he answer them?
Angel Earl Joel Bonomini Devon Hiphner Gabi Palomino Steve Marsh Eva Sikora Hunter Winter Cecilia Löfgren Dumas Ashley Wright Edward Bradford Boram Yoon Chad Struhs Stewart MacMillan Louise Dreisig
Angel Earl Joel Bonomini Devon Hiphner Gabi Palomino Steve Marsh Eva Sikora Hunter Winter Cecilia Löfgren Dumas Ashley Wright Edward Bradford Boram Yoon Chad Struhs Stewart MacMillan Louise Dreisig
Awkward English: Korea’s Love Affair with Bad Slogans
Why do Korean cities and companies keep producing English slogans that sound like AI-generated poetry? “Hi Seoul,” “Just Sangju,” “Busan is Good.” It’s not just bad translation. It’s a cultural ritual—one part ambition, one part bureaucracy, and one part unintentional comedy.
How We Got Here
Korean institutions love English. It looks modern, global, and smart. The problem is, no one asks actual native speakers whether the words make sense. Most city slogans are born not in creative studios but in committee rooms, where the safest idea wins.
As one Korean PR consultant put it, “Decisions are based on the boss’s facial expression.” If the mayor smiles, it’s approved.
Rebranding through English is a cheap way to seem international. It’s visible, easy to announce, and leaves a legacy without needing real reform. In Korean bureaucracy, that’s branding gold.
Copying the Wrong Homework
When “Amazing Thailand” and “Wow! Philippines” became global hits in the early 2000s, Korean officials copied the format like kids tracing over another student’s notebook. The result was a generation of slogans that sounded like karaoke versions of someone else’s hit.
We got Amazing Iksan, Wonderful Samcheok, Wow! Siheung, and Viva Boryeong—each trying to sound exotic but landing somewhere between awkward and surreal.
Then came the “Let’s” and “Yes” Era, when upbeat corporate English took over municipal branding:
Let’s Goyang
Yes Gumi
Yes Hadong
Let’s Guri
Yes Uiwang
These were meant to inspire pride. Instead, they sounded like language-learning flashcards.
The Greatest Hits of Konglish Branding
Hi Seoul (2002)
Meant to show friendliness and openness. Foreigners joked it sounded like Seoul was greeting itself. The city doubled down, calling it “warm and simple.” Later, it evolved into “Hi Seoul: Soul of Asia,” which only made things worse.
I·SEOUL·U (2015)
The spiritual sequel to “Hi Seoul.” Designed through public participation (but almost no foreign consultation), it was supposed to mean “Seoul connects you and me.” Instead, it baffled everyone. Expats turned it into memes: “I will find you, and I will Seoul you.” In 2023, it was replaced by Seoul, My Soul after surveys found most foreigners had no idea what it meant.
Viva Boryeong
Officials thought “Viva” meant “vibrant.” Then they decided each letter stood for something: “Vacation Land, Impress City, Variety City, Adventure City.” It became the poster child for misplaced creativity.
Just Sangju
Inspired by Nike’s “Just Do It.” The slogan was meant to sound bold and modern. Instead, it felt like a command without an object. Foreign journalists mocked it; locals shrugged. “Meh, it’s Just Sangju.”
Busan is Good (2023)
Replaced the beloved Dynamic Busan. “Good,” officials explained, stood for “Global, Original, Open, Dynamic.” Critics said it stood for “boring.” Even Busan locals groaned online.
Bonus Round: The Corporate Hall of Fame
Lotte: “The Sweetheart of Your Mouth.” Romantic, if you’re dating a pastry.
Hankook Tire: “Make Love to the Road.” Someone actually approved that.
KT: “Let’s.” That’s it. Just “Let’s.” The blue balls of corporate slogans.
SBS: “Together, We Make Delight.” Grammatically fine, emotionally empty.
LG: “Life’s Good.” Proof that when done right, simple works.
The Bureaucracy of Branding
For city halls, “branding” often means decorating the logo with English letters and a swoosh. Real linguistic testing or cultural consultation rarely happens. Slogans are often chosen because they sound nice in Korean phonetics, not because they make sense in English.
Acronyms remain a national obsession. Busan’s “GOOD,” Boryeong’s “VIVA,” and Gyeonggi’s “GO GREAT” all prove that Koreans love the illusion of cleverness even when the logic collapses.
When It Accidentally Works
Not every English slogan flopped.
Jeju’s “Only Jeju” worked because it was confident and minimal.
SK’s “We want to be your energy.” was both literal and metaphorical.
Hyundai’s “New Thinking. New Possibilities.” landed globally because it kept things simple.
Even when they’re clumsy, Korean slogans show a creative fearlessness. “Make Love to the Road” might not sell tires, but it makes people talk. And that’s half the point.
The “Konglish” Charm
A 2024 survey found that 91 percent of Koreans notice awkward English in public campaigns. Two-thirds admit it looks unprofessional. Yet many still find it funny and endearing. Bad English has become a kind of folk art—part of Korea’s urban texture, like neon signs and convenience-store mascots.
It’s not really about communication anymore. It’s about decoration. English as sparkle. Grammar as optional.
Why It Matters
These slogans say something bigger about modern Korea. They show a country obsessed with global image but still uncertain about its own voice. A place that wants to impress the world, yet can’t resist doing it in its own strange, charming way.
Awkward English in Korea isn’t just bad marketing. It’s cultural poetry—accidental, funny, and uniquely Korean.
Metropolitan Cities
City
Slogan
Seoul
Seoul, My Soul Hi Seoul → Hi Seoul: Soul of Asia → Infinitely Yours, Seoul → I·SEOUL·U
Busan
Busan is Good Dynamic Busan
Incheon
All Ways Incheon Discover Incheon
Daegu
Powerful Daegu, Full of Freedom and Vitality Colorful Daegu
Daejeon
Daejeon is U It’s Daejeon
Gwangju
Your Partner, Gwangju Clean Gwangju
Ulsan
The Rising City, Ulsan Ulsan for You
Special Cities and Provinces
City / Province
Slogan
Sejong
Sejong is the Future Benefiting the World, Dignified Sejong
Jeju
Only Jeju Island Everlasting Jeju / Eco Jeju
Gyeonggi Province
Go Great Gyeonggi, A Game of Opportunity at the Center of Change
Gangwon Province
The New Gangwon, Special Self-Governance Era
North Chungcheong Province
Chungbuk, Standing at the Center
South Chungcheong Province
Strong Chungcheongnam-do, the Power of Korea
North Jeolla Province
New Jeonbuk, Special Opportunity
South Jeolla Province
Jeollanam-do, the Land of Life, the Best
North Gyeongsang Province
A New Republic of Korea with the Power of Gyeongbuk
South Gyeongsang Province
Bravo Gyeongnam
Major Cities in Gyeonggi Province
City
Slogan
Suwon
Human City Suwon Happy Suwon
Seongnam
Seongnam, the City of Cutting-edge Technology
Yongin
Creating a Future Together, Yongin Renaissance
Hwaseong
The Way to Better Living
Anyang
Livable Anyang
Pyeongtaek
Citizen-centered New Pyeongtaek Super Pyeongtaek
Bucheon
With Bucheon Citizens Running Again (formerly Fantasia Bucheon) Fantasia Bucheon
Goyang
Fly to a Special City (30 Years of Goyang)Let’s Goyang
Gimpo
Full Life GimpoBest Gimpo
Anyang
Smart Anyang
Ansan
A Free Innovation City with Citizens Bravo! Ansan
Siheung
Enjoy Siheung! Wow! Siheung
Icheon
ART Icheon
Uijeongbu
The City That Changes My Life
Uiwang
Yes! Uiwang
Anseong
City of Masters
Gunpo
Gunpo Good for You Nice Gunpo
Hanam
A City That Wants to Live
Namyangju
Imagination No Longer Namyangju
Gwangju (Gyeonggi)
Happy Gwangju, City of Hope
Other Regional Highlights
Region
City
Slogan
Gangwon
Chuncheon
Romantic Chuncheon
Gangwon
Sokcho
Fresh Sokcho (no longer in use)
Gangwon
Gangneung
Solhyang Gangneung
Jeolla
Mokpo
Romantic Port Mokpo
Jeolla
Suncheon
The Ecological Capital of KoreaIn Suncheon
Gyeongsangbuk-do
Gyeongju
Golden City Gyeongju
Gyeongsangbuk-do
Andong
The Capital of Korean Spiritual CultureSmile Forever Andong / Again Andong
Gyeongsangnam-do
Geoje
Big Heart Geoje Blue City Geoje
Gyeongsangnam-do
Jinju
Charm Jinju
Chungnam
Asan
Smart Asan
Chungnam
Boryeong
Viva Boryeong
Gumi
New Hope Gumi Era (gov. 2020s slogan)Yes Gumi (still used)
Gimhae
Don’t Worry, Gimahae’ppy Royal Capital of Gaya
Gunsan
Gunsan, a Self-Reliant City with Citizens Historical Gunsan
Government and Tourism Slogans
Entity
Slogan
Notes
National Tourism Organization
Korea, Sparkling
Criticized for not meaning anything clear — “Is Korea a soda?” was a common joke .
National Branding Council
Creative Korea
Had strong intent, but drew mockery for being vague .
Seoul
I·SEOUL·U
Meant to symbolize connection between people, but went viral as a “Konglish puzzle” — expats joked with variations like “I will find you, and I will Seoul you” .
Seoul (2009–2015)
Infinitely Yours
Seen as poetic but disconnected from the city .
Suncheon
Aha! Suncheon
Criticized for randomness — the explanation “Aha!” means joy and victory failed to persuade audiences .
Boryeong
Viva Boryeong
Claimed each letter (V-I-V-A) stood for different words, but it unintentionally copied Spanish exclamations, baffling locals .
Sangju
Just Sangju
Imitated Nike’s “Just Do It,” and confused foreign observers .
Siheung
Wow! Siheung
Dropped after ridicule; locals called it “empty enthusiasm” .
Jeonbuk Province
Feel Korea in Jeonbuk
Considered one of the few slogans that actually made emotional sense to foreigners .
Corporate and Product Slogans
Company
Slogan
Reaction
Samsung
Do What You Can’t
Widely praised for originality and empowerment message .
LG
Life’s Good
Universally regarded as one of Korea’s best branding lines .
Kia
The Power to Surprise
Clear and positive, often cited as an example of “English done right” .
Hyundai
Drive Your Way
Solid concept, though less memorable internationally .
Lotte
The Sweetheart of Your Mouth
Infamous example of mistranslation—meant to express “heartwarming flavor,” but sounds unintentionally romantic or odd in English .
Hankook Tire
Make Love to the Road
Mocked globally for suggestive phrasing; marketing later dropped it .
KT Corporation
Let’s
Criticized as incomplete—Koreans intended it as short for “Let’s connect,” but it baffled native speakers .
SBS (Seoul Broadcasting System)
Together, We Make Delight
Grammatically okay but emotionally flat—often used as an example of “word salad” corporate English .
King Jeongjo inherited a kingdom broken by madness, murder, and factional greed. In this episode, we look at how the grandson of Yeongjo—and son of the doomed Prince Sado—tried to rebuild the dynasty. From political purges and paranoid advisors to free-market experiments and the rise of new factions, Jeongjo’s reign was a fight to heal a wounded court without losing his crown.
Angel Earl Joel Bonomini Devon Hiphner Gabi Palomino Steve Marsh Eva Sikora Hunter Winter Cecilia Löfgren Dumas Ashley Wright Edward Bradford Boram Yoon Chad Struhs Stewart MacMillan Louise Dreisig
Fall of Joseon, Part 17: The King Who Would Heal a Dynasty
When King Jeongjo took the throne in 1776, Joseon was exhausted. His grandfather Yeongjo had spent decades balancing factions like a man juggling knives. His father, Crown Prince Sado, had died locked in a rice chest. The dynasty was fractured by guilt, paranoia, and hypocrisy.
Jeongjo’s challenge was to rule a kingdom that no longer trusted its kings.
Hong Gukyeong: The Power Broker
On his first day, Jeongjo declared publicly, “I am the son of Prince Sado.” That alone set the court on edge. Then he moved fast. He removed rivals, banished a few, and executed others. His closest ally was Hong Gukyeong, a brilliant and ruthless operator.
Hong rose quickly, becoming Chief Royal Secretary in 1776 and head of the royal army the next year. His sister, Wonbin, became Jeongjo’s concubine. Hong ruled like a prime minister, crushing opponents until his paranoia caught up with him. When Wonbin died, he blamed Queen Hyoui and allegedly tried to poison her. The scandal ended his career. Jeongjo expelled him in 1779, ending the brief “Hong era.”
A Scholar King Steps Forward
With Hong gone, Jeongjo ruled on his own. He saw himself as a philosopher-king, reviving the Confucian ideal of the monarch as teacher. In 1776 he founded Gyujanggak, a royal research institute that doubled as a policy think tank. He also launched the Chogyemunsin program to recruit young officials under 37. They were graded, rewarded, and even lectured by the king himself twice a month.
This flipped centuries of precedent. For generations, the scholar elite had tutored the king in Gyeongyeon sessions. Jeongjo reversed it. Now the king taught the scholars. The message was clear: he would not be lectured. He would lead.
Under Jeongjo, those sessions dropped from nearly 200 times a year to almost none by the late 19th century. Later monarchs, like Gojong, never held one. The Confucian power pipeline broke.
Factionalism Reborn
Jeongjo promised balance and impartiality, but factionalism just mutated. The old Noron faction split into new subgroups.
Byeokpa (Dogmatists) clung to orthodoxy and defended Sado’s execution.
Sipa (Realists) pushed reform and defended Sado’s memory.
The fall of Hong Gukyeong tilted power toward the Sipa. But arguments over Sado’s legacy reignited the faction wars. By 1792, petitions flooded the palace demanding rehabilitation for Sado or punishment for those complicit in his death. Jeongjo refused to take sides, hanging a sign over his desk that read, “An office for the policy of balance and impartiality.”
His approach was pragmatic. When factions fought, he just fired everyone. As one official later wrote, “When someone spoke about an issue, the first question was not whether it was true, but which faction he belonged to.”
That mindset—friend or foe over logic or morality—still echoes in Korean politics today.
Reform and Resistance
Jeongjo also tackled the economy. For centuries, merchants operated under a mercantilist system. Licensed traders monopolized commerce and funneled money to conservative allies in court. By the late 1700s, unlicensed markets were booming, prices were falling, and the monopoly class panicked.
In 1791, reformist official Chae Jegong proposed a partial free market. Jeongjo agreed. Goods not covered by state monopolies could now be traded freely. It was Korea’s first real taste of economic liberalization.
Conservatives raged. The policy was briefly suspended but never fully rolled back. Free markets weakened the old merchants and their bureaucratic partners. It also chipped away at the literati class, who found their government stipends shrinking. For the first time, impoverished yangban were encouraged to enter commerce.
Changing Society
Jeongjo’s reforms went beyond economics. He supported writers like Bak Jiwon, whose satirical novel A Story of the Scholar Gentry mocked the corruption and poverty of the educated elite. Jeongjo also pushed to end discrimination against illegitimate sons of literati, giving them limited access to government positions.
These changes didn’t erase inequality, but they cracked the rigid hierarchy that had defined Joseon for centuries.
Why It Matters
King Jeongjo’s reign is one of the last moments when Joseon tried to save itself. He reasserted royal power, curbed the scholars, opened the economy, and tried to balance ideology with pragmatism. But factionalism kept mutating. The court’s obsession with loyalty over logic remained.
Jeongjo’s reforms kept the dynasty alive for a while longer, but the seeds of decline were already planted. The scholar king could teach, punish, and reform, but he could not heal the rot.
Angel Earl Joel Bonomini Devon Hiphner Gabi Palomino Steve Marsh Eva Sikora Hunter Winter Cecilia Löfgren Dumas Ashley Wright Edward Bradford Boram Yoon Chad Struhs Stewart MacMillan Louise Dreisig
Kidnapped! Korea’s Rise in Child Abduction Attempts
Kidnapping and abduction attempts are trending up across Korea, with Seoul at the center of the storm. Parents are rattled, police are scrambling, and courts are under fire for letting suspects walk.
The Numbers
Between January and August, police logged 237 cases of kidnapping, abduction, and human trafficking. That averages more than nine attempts a week. One in four attempts fail, but three in four succeed long enough to put a child in danger.
Most cases involve strangers. The victims are usually between seven and twelve years old. Half of incidents happen on the street, and nearly two-thirds occur between noon and 6 p.m., when children are walking to or from school. Courts rejected 30 percent of arrest warrants in 2025, compared to just 6 percent in 2020. That gap enrages parents who see predators slipping through the system.
Key Cases
April, Gangnam: Two men tried to lure a young boy with the promise of a drink. He refused and they left. The same day, an elderly man grabbed another boy’s backpack and yelled “It’s mine!” Police treated him as mentally unstable. Parents called it anything but harmless.
August, Seodaemun: Three men attempted to kidnap elementary students near a school. They claimed it was a joke. The court agreed and refused arrest warrants. Parents erupted in anger, warning of copycats.
September, Gwangmyeon: A teenager grabbed an elementary school girl as she stepped out of an elevator, covering her mouth. She screamed and escaped. He was caught and prosecuted.
Other incidents: In Jeju, a man tried to lure a girl with a fake job offer. In 2023, students in Seoul were given drug-laced drinks in an extortion scheme. Reports are rising from Incheon, Daegu, and Jeonju.
Beyond Kidnapping: Violence at Home
Not all threats are strangers. In Incheon, a father beat his 11-year-old son to death with a baseball bat. The defense argued he avoided “vital areas” and deserved leniency. He got 11 years. For parents already nervous about predators outside, this case showed the danger inside the home.
The Response
The National Police Agency deployed 55,000 officers to guard 6,200 schools nationwide. Officers monitor parked cars, conduct stop-and-search patrols, and work with local volunteers. Cities upgraded CCTV systems, giving police real-time feeds. Prosecutors called for harsher penalties and public release of suspect identities.
Parents are arming kids with safety devices: beepers, trackers, emergency alarms. Sales are booming.
Panic or Precaution?
Critics argue the campaign risks overreaction. Even minor encounters are now treated as full-scale kidnapping attempts, forcing police to stretch resources thin. Parents counter that after the recent wave of cases, there is no such thing as overreaction.
Why It Matters
Korea’s kidnapping scare is more than a crime story. It exposes cracks in the justice system, mistrust between parents and courts, and the anxiety of raising children in a society with limited safety nets. Whether these are isolated copycats or a deeper trend, the public mood is clear: parents feel the system is not doing enough to protect their children.
We tour Korea’s “cursed landmarks,” from the Blue House to Jongno Tower, the National Assembly, Cheonggyecheon, and beyond. These sites carry dark folklore, bad feng shui, ghost stories, and political baggage. What makes a landmark “cursed,” and why do Koreans still talk about them?
Angel Earl Joel Bonomini Devon Hiphner Gabi Palomino Steve Marsh Eva Sikora Hunter Winter Cecilia Löfgren Dumas Ashley Wright Edward Bradford Boram Yoon Chad Struhs Stewart MacMillan Louise Dreisig
Cursed Landmarks: Seoul’s Haunted History
Seoul is full of monuments that represent power, wealth, and national pride. Some of them also carry reputations as cursed. Folklore, bad feng shui, tragic history, and ghost stories turn these places into something darker. Let’s walk through Korea’s most famous “unlucky land” sites.
Jongno Tower: A Ring for Bad Energy
The site has always been turbulent. During Joseon it held the Podo Office. In the colonial era it became the Hwashin Department Store, one of Seoul’s most iconic buildings. Its owner Park Heung-sik was arrested as the first collaborator under the Anti-National Punishment Act. After liberation, the building declined. Preservation efforts failed, and it was demolished in 1987.
The replacement tower had constant design changes and construction problems. It was completed in 1999 with a futuristic look. At the top sits a hollow ring. Locals joke that it exists to “let bad energy escape.” Others connect it to shamanic tradition, where holes allow spirits to pass through so they do not linger. The building’s history of failure and scandal still feeds the idea that the land is cursed.
Cheong Wa Dae: The Blue House Curse
The Blue House, home to South Korean presidents until 2022, is said to be one of the most blessed sites in Korea. Backed by Bugaksan and facing water, it fits the traditional baesan imsu principle. A stone inscription nearby even calls it “the most blessed place on earth.”
Yet the record of presidents tied to the Blue House is grim. Assassinations, imprisonment, suicides, impeachments. Geomancers point to colonial-era disruption. The Japanese built their Governor-General’s residence nearby and allegedly drove metal stakes into the ground to disrupt the “energy lines.” In the 1990s, Seoul National University’s Choi Chang-jo argued that the site is “for the dead, not the living.” Critics describe Bugaksan as a “lone general” mountain, which in geomancy implies stubborn misfortune. The result is a palace with perfect theory but disastrous history.
The National Assembly: Virgin Ghosts and Bad Energy
The Assembly on Yeouido is said to sit on old burial or cremation grounds for court ladies. That rumor fuels stories of “virgin ghosts” haunting the halls. Night staff whisper of long-haired figures appearing in corridors. Politicians have reported strange presences during late sessions.
Geomancers criticize the location. Yeouido is sandy, unstable land. Energy is believed to leak away instead of gathering. The site has no protective mountain and is exposed to the northwest “killing wind.” Even the Assembly’s dome has been compared to a funeral bier canopy, giving the building funereal symbolism. Critics say the design itself invites misfortune.
Cheonggyecheon: Ghosts in the Water
The stream running through central Seoul has long been linked with restless spirits. From the Joseon era through the early 20th century, many drowned, sickened, or died there. Ghost stories grew around it. People claim to see women in white wandering the banks, or to feel spectral hands pulling them under during floods.
When the stream was covered with concrete in the 20th century, locals warned that suppressing water energy would bring misfortune. Companies building near it were said to suffer repeated failures, cursed by the water veins. When the stream was reopened in the 2000s, many wondered if it would calm the spirits or stir them further.
Other Sites of Uneasy Energy
Deoksugung Walkway: Linked to palace servants and ghostly presences near today’s family court.
Bridges over Cheonggyecheon: Some tied to specific drownings, others associated with strange cries or apparitions.
Why the Legends Persist
Korea’s cursed landmark stories mix history, politics, and belief. Colonial disruption, bad construction, unlucky topography, and tragic deaths all become part of a site’s folklore. In a city that constantly rebuilds itself, these stories remind people that the land has a memory.
Our follow-up to Cruel Summershows Korea’s August crimes were just as horrific. A shaman murdered her niece in a ritual. Couples turned their homes into crime scenes. Babies were abandoned for cash. Convenience store clerks were stabbed for no reason. This summer didn’t cool down. It only got darker.
Angel Earl Joel Bonomini Devon Hiphner Gabi Palomino Steve Marsh Eva Sikora Hunter Winter Cecilia Löfgren Dumas Ashley Wright Edward Bradford Boram Yoon Chad Struhs Stewart MacMillan Louise Dreisig
Cruel Summer 2: Crueler Summerer
If you thought July was bad, August said, “Hold my soju.” Korea’s cruel summer didn’t end with heat waves and floods. The crimes piled up, and each one managed to outdo the last in cruelty. Babies sold off, shamans killing relatives, convenience store workers stabbed, and marital fights that left apartments in flames. Welcome to the sequel no one wanted.
Babies for Sale
In Busan, a couple in their 40s were sentenced for abandoning not one but two newborns. The first baby was handed off in 2013 to strangers found online. The second, in 2018, was literally exchanged for 288,000 won to cover hospital fees. These weren’t formal adoptions. They were back-alley transfers of human lives.
The court gave the man a short prison term plus another year for unrelated crimes including fraud and forgery. The woman got a suspended sentence. Both were barred from working around children for three years. A slap on the wrist considering they sold their own kids like used phones.
Murder by Ritual
Incheon prosecutors indicted a 70-something shaman and her followers for killing her niece. The niece tried to quit working for her aunt. Instead, she was tied down and “purified” by charcoal smoke for three hours. She died the next day.
The aunt had manipulated her circle for years, convincing them that offerings and rituals could fix real-world problems. The prosecution is seeking a life sentence. This is a reminder that Korea’s shamanic traditions are real and fascinating, but the fringe cults around them can be lethal.
Convenience Store Bloodbath
In August, a man stabbed a female clerk at a convenience store multiple times. There was no fight. No motive. CCTV showed him walk in, attack, and run. He hid near a river before being caught. The only thin connection: his husband had once owned the store and had a dispute with the new owner. The victim wasn’t even involved. Wrong place, wrong shift.
Marital Disputes, Nuclear Edition
August brought a series of spousal fights that spiraled into horror.
Geoje: A wife poured gasoline around the living room during an argument and set the apartment ablaze. Both spouses were burned. More than fifty neighbors were evacuated.
Changwon: A man suspected his divorcing wife of cheating. He stabbed her to death, called police, confessed, and then jumped from the third floor. He survived and was sentenced to 22 years.
Another Stabbing in a Parking Lot
A Chinese national filed a police report against a Korean man but declined protection. Days later he stabbed her in an underground parking garage. CCTV caught everything. He ditched his car in Hongcheon and fled into the mountains. Police dogs tracked him down. Another case where a system meant to protect failed at the exact moment it was needed.
Why “Crueler Summerer” Fits
Korea’s August crime spree shows how pressure, poverty, and untreated rage keep boiling over. Abandoned babies point to weak social safety nets. A shaman’s murder exposes how belief can be twisted into control. Random stabbings highlight how violence spills into public spaces. And family disputes that escalate into fire and bloodshed remind us that homes are not always safe havens.
The season may be over, but the stories linger. Korea’s cruel summer was not a one-off. It looks more like the new normal.
Summer in Korea sucks. This was a record-breaking year for temps. Floods were awful again. Crime was pretty damn bad, too. Big one, little details: headless body found in Taebaeksan; wearing winter clothing – so been there a while.
Angel Earl Joel Bonomini Devon Hiphner Gabi Palomino Steve Marsh Eva Sikora Hunter Winter Cecilia Löfgren Dumas Ashley Wright Edward Bradford Boram Yoon Chad Struhs Stewart MacMillan Louise Dreisig
Cruel Summer: Korea’s Violent Season
Summer in Korea always sucks. The heat was record-breaking, floods drowned homes again, and the crime news cycle looked like something out of a serial killer anthology. This year’s “cruel summer” was more than Taylor Swift melodrama. It was headless bodies, homemade guns, and families dying together in cars.
Guns in Incheon
July’s biggest case involved a man in his 60s who made his own gun. On his birthday, he shot and killed his son, then tried to murder his daughter-in-law, his grandchildren, and even the expat tutor in the house. He had also built explosives set to detonate the next day. Investigators found he had been planning since August 2024, studying YouTube videos on how to build firearms.
His motive: money. He believed his ex-wife and son wanted to cut him off financially. He was indicted for murder, attempted murder, illegal firearm possession, and arson planning. This was Korea’s worst gun case in years, and it rattled a country that prides itself on being gun-free.
Knives in Daejeon
In Daejeon, a man murdered his girlfriend in July by stabbing her to death. He accidentally left his phone at the scene, which made it easy for police to track him down. He tried to commit suicide by poison, failed, and was arrested. Disturbingly, he had been reported four times over the previous eight months for abusing her. The warnings were ignored until it was too late.
The Elderly and Violence
The data keeps repeating itself: violent crime by Korea’s elderly is on the rise. From 2015 to 2024, the number of elderly inmates more than doubled. One in five murderers in prison is over 60. Poverty is the backdrop. Korea has one of the highest elderly poverty rates in the OECD, combined with weak mental health support. When seniors lash out, it often shocks the public, but the trend has been visible for years.
Family Murder-Suicides
Korea’s suicide crisis continues to spill into family tragedies. Rates remain double the OECD average, especially in regions with more welfare recipients. Debt is often the spark.
In May, a 49-year-old father spiked his sons’ drinks with sleeping pills, then drove into the sea during a family holiday in Jeollanamdo. He bailed out at the last second. His wife and children died. He was arrested for murder and assisting suicide. His debt was ₩200 million.
In July, two separate cases saw entire families found dead in cars, both ruled murder-suicides.
A Save the Children study found that between 2014 and 2023, 147 children were caught in family murder-suicides. Two-thirds were under age nine. Most cases happened at home.
Cultural attitudes matter here. Korean parents often see children as extensions of themselves, not independent individuals. Experts argue that when suicidal parents kill their kids, they see it as “taking care of them.” It is a twisted logic rooted in cultural views of family.
Sentences Handed Down
Not all cases were fresh, but several high-profile crimes reached sentencing this summer:
The Yongin family murders: a man who sedated and strangled his parents, wife, and daughters received life in prison. His motive was financial ruin after lawsuits.
The Mia-dong stabbing spree: Kim Seong-jin, who killed one woman and injured another at a supermarket, was sentenced to life. Prosecutors requested the death penalty but were denied.
Why Korea’s Summers Feel Cruel
The season itself plays a role. Heat waves fray tempers. Floods disrupt lives and fuel despair. Combine that with debt, poverty, and a broken social safety net, and the violence feels inevitable. Korea’s elderly lack support. Families buckle under pressure. Suicide is normalized as a way out.
The country’s “cruel summer” wasn’t just about weather. It was a showcase of how financial strain, cultural attitudes, and ignored red flags can turn into very real horror.
KPop Demon Hunters is loaded with Korean folklore beneath its neon spectacle. We dig into mudang rituals, dokkaebi, tiger and magpie tricksters, and the Honmoon “soul-gate.” We also talk about how the movie is both a love letter to K-Pop and a biting satire of idol culture.
Angel Earl Joel Bonomini Devon Hiphner Gabi Palomino Steve Marsh Eva Sikora Hunter Winter Cecilia Löfgren Dumas Ashley Wright Edward Bradford Boram Yoon Chad Struhs Stewart MacMillan Louise Dreisig
KPop Demon Hunters: Folklore, Satire, and Soul Gates
Netflix’s KPop Demon Hunters looks like another glitter bomb in the K-content machine. Neon, idols, sparkles. At first glance it seems like pure fan service. Scratch under the surface and you find a film loaded with Korean folklore. On top of that, it skewers idol culture while pretending to celebrate it. It works because it is both sincere and sarcastic at the same time.
Shamans in Sequins
Huntr/x, the girl group turned demon hunters, is basically a modern mudang trio. In Korea, mudang are female shamans who perform gut rituals with music, dance, and props to deal with spirits. The film reimagines these rituals as idol concerts with swords and choreography. Same concept, bigger light show.
Their weapons come straight from tradition. Rumi uses the saingeom, a legendary sword tied to exorcism. Mira wields the gokdo, a polearm from the old Gaya confederacy. Zoey throws ritual knives. This is not a coincidence. The film is saying that K-Pop idols are shamans with better marketing.
Monsters in Mascara
The demons behave like dokkaebi. Western critics call them “goblins,” which is lazy. They are uniquely Korean spirits, tied to chaos and discarded objects. The rival boy band, the Saja Boys, takes its name from the jeoseung saja, the reapers who escort souls to the afterlife. They perform sugary pop while literally eating souls. The satire is so blunt it borders on comedy.
Tigers, Magpies, and Tricksters
The tiger and magpie pairing comes from hojakdo folk paintings. Sometimes these paintings mocked authority. Other times they offered good fortune or moral lessons. The film flattens that nuance into slapstick. The tiger is bumbling, the magpie clever. Korean audiences recognize the old motif. International viewers just see goofy animal sidekicks.
Folklore is more complicated than this. Tigers in Korean tradition are often symbols of protection and divine power, not just buffoons. The movie reduces them for a laugh. It works on screen, but it simplifies a rich tradition.
The Soul Gate and Demon Boss
The Honmoon, or soul gate, is the film’s magical barrier. It echoes Korean ideas about thresholds as spiritually risky places. The villain, Gwi-Ma, draws his name from “ma,” the concept of corrupting or demonic energy. These references are not deep cuts. They are basic folklore, dressed up in neon animation.
Culture in the Details
The cultural Easter eggs keep the story grounded. Characters wear gat hats and norigae charms. Props like drums and fans sneak into the fight choreography. Food shows up constantly: kimchi, tteokbokki, hotteok. And of course, the ramen-slurping scene. Eating styles in Korea are cultural rituals in their own right. The gag is funny, but it also anchors the fantasy in something familiar.
Animation as Ritual
The visuals mix anime-style framing with concert cinematography. Fight scenes use smear frames and exaggerated movement that mimic ritual dance. The effect makes the battles feel like concerts and the concerts feel like rituals.
A Love Letter and a Roast
The Love Letter
Idols are presented as shamans whose work literally saves the world
Huntr/x fits the classic roles: the leader, the visual, the rapper
The soundtrack leans into K-Pop’s strength: spectacle, hooks, rhythm
Performances are framed as sacred, not disposable
The Roast
The Saja Boys are soulless on purpose. They parody overproduced idol groups, shiny on the outside and hollow inside.
Zoey’s backstory is a joke. She is the rapper from Burbank. Not exactly a hotbed of hip-hop. Yet her “foreign” identity is marketed as street credibility. This mocks how overseas Koreans are fetishized as exotic and authentic at the same time.
Image-making is the real villain. Fans and companies will accept any narrative as long as it looks glossy.
Idol clichés are pushed until they break. Fan service, competitions, branding. The Idol Awards climax turns a pop show into a cosmic apocalypse. It is hilarious and sharp at the same time.–> Check out our interview with Sharon Kong-Perring on the Dark Side of K-Pop Fandom for more in-depth discussion.
The gags drive the point home. Ramen jokes, gossip, slapstick tigers. They highlight how silly the culture can look when exaggerated.
Exorcism as concert is the ultimate satire. The film equates sacred ritual with mass-market entertainment. It suggests fans already treat idols like gods.
Satire in the Songs
The soundtrack is where the satire bites hardest.
Huntr/x songs are earnest and emotional. Rumi’s big song is about self-acceptance. It fits the idol-as-shaman theme.
Saja Boys songs are vapid by design.
Soda Pop is catchy but bland, a parody of fluffy summer singles.
Your Idol is openly sinister. The lyrics are about devouring fans’ souls. The crowd screams for more without noticing. That is the joke.
This is not subtle. The Saja Boys are written as satire of the idol system itself. They consume fans while fans cheer them on.
Why It Works
KPop Demon Hunters pulls it off because it commits. Folklore is not a garnish. It shapes the weapons, the monsters, the props, and the humor. Satire is not a cheap parody. It is baked into the songs, the characters, and the narrative.
The result is a film that honors K-Pop’s emotional pull while mocking its absurdity. It works as a love letter and as a roast. And that balance is what makes it memorable.
